Page 49 of Sorry, We're Closed

“That ‘loverboy’.” I laugh to myself as Marcus pats my shoulders, then his laughter follows,

“Look at you! Well, you definitely didn't get this whole settling down young thing from me.”

I roll my eyes at Marcus as he laughs again, pulling me in for one last hug. His hands pull away from my shoulders as I notice a lacquer of black polish on his nails. I grab his hand in mine, making mine look miniscule.

“What is this? Painted nails? You did these by yourself?”

Marcus pulls his large hands back and forces them into his pockets, his gaze avoiding mine. I've never seen Marcus shy about anything.

“Well—And I'm not sentimental or anything, but you've been up and about a lot more than I've ever seen before, so having something matching with you just reminds me that Bright Lights will always keep us together, no matter what.”

My heart swells at Marcus’ comment, and I can begin to feel my eyes dampening again before Marcus interrupts me.

“Besides, I rock these nails! Right?Right?”

Marcus proudly wiggles his fingers in front of me as I wiggle mine above his, and this right here lets me know that no matter what happens, no matter where we end up orwhoends up in our lives, we will always have each other and Bright Lights.

“Besides, you don’t have any white nail polish, I was going to spell DILF over them since—”

“Marcus, no!”

Never in a million years did I think I’d hear the word “DILF” come out of my uncle’s mouth.

“Why not? People in the audiences have been shouting it at me!”

I ask Marcus if he knows what it means, he replies no, and that marks the end of fuelling Marcus’ already growing ego. I’ll teach him another day.

Marcus pulls his phone out of his back pocket and begins sliding and tapping his fingers across the screen, the occasional curse escaping under his breath. Shortly after, my phone pings in my sagging hoodie pocket and I dig around until I see a chat bubble flashing on my screen. I unlock my phone and Marcus’ name is in bold – he has text me an email and a phone number, and when my eyes find his, he speaks.

“That is your dad's phone number and the email he's been updating me with, so if you would like to do this on your own or alongside me, then you have that option.”

A smile which pushes my cheeks up to my eyes, forms on my face as my phone dings once again.

“Now, answer your loverboy and think on everything. I'm always here if you need anything.”

Marcus wraps his hand around the back of my head and pulls my forehead close, planting a wet kiss before sinking his stocky body into the sofa once more.

Twenty-Three

Sawyer

I struggle to believe that everything that is happening is my reality. I'm not even convinced by my own words and thoughts currently. My life is now scheduled, restricted to a regime which she created and tailors to her lifestyle, yet the idea of sneaking around with Avory within that dictated regime feels more freeing than anything I've ever experienced.

This is something that I, he, we have control over together and as individuals, and it’s exciting. I don't know what made me believe that I could so easily give up Avory. He's like a book you can never put down and it would be criminal to do so.

There are still so many dangers and anxieties bubbling at the thought of us doing this more often, though. More than I'd like to admit, and I'm convinced more than Avory is aware of. Unless he knows and is just this carefree and relaxed? She could catch us, she could punish me, she could make her way to Pick and Strings and drag Marcus into this. The list, ever growing, acts like some ancient scroll as it rolls around my mind with no end in sight. I need to talk to Avory about all of this, because I need him to burn this damn scroll.

I leave work shortly after Avory, albeit a few minutes later than planned, so my walk home is brisk with a quicker pace to my steps than usual. I don't want to risk even being a few minutes late, because I still don't understand the severity the consequences could have on my life, on Avory, on anything and everything. This is her through and through. She constantly leaves me in a state of fight or flight because she knows I am weak. Everything always works in her favour, and she abuses that.

I barrel through the front door, nearly tripping and falling headfirst into the stairs, but I arrive home two minutes earlier than expected. I did it. I'm sure the damp patches on my buttoned shirt and the faint wheeze to my deep breaths also shows that I did it.

I peek my head into the living room, planning to announce my arrival home with her demands, yet the cream sofas that face the TV are vacant. Silence fills the house and as I carry my body upstairs. She isn't even home. She's dictating my life, dictating my every move, yet will only ever care if I don't obey.

I swing my bedroom door open, the door bouncing back into my body as it ricochets from the wall. I push it once more and finally enter my room. It's like the door knows I’m pissed off and is mocking me. Mocking me by reminding me of the dent in my wall as the slam moves within the hollow wall, and I have just gone and made it worse. I drop my bag and run my fingers over the dent, the cracks fragile and likely to collapse any day now. That'll leave a hole in my wall, and I'm not sure what I'll do then.

She started this dent, on that night when I was ripped out of bed. My head suddenly starts to ache thinking about her skeletal fingers ripping through my curls. The ache spreads like wildfire across my body as I linger on her words that night. I don't want to think about her vicious dialect, though. I want the only thought swirling around in my mind to be about Avory; about our kiss in the café, about his voice and everything he's ever said to me.

I grab my phone and tap Avory's name, and I can't help but laugh to myself. Avory Bright (JUST A FRIEND!) displays across the screen, and I wonder if there was ever a time, or a place, or a different universe where we could've just been friends or not have even known of each other.

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